Edge of a Knife
by Taluliaka
Summary: The breaking of the curse comes with a price Belle isn't sure she will survive paying. Until Destiny intervenes.
1. Chapter 1

**Edge of a Knife**

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**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Stargate Universe or Once Upon a Time._

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There is a woman standing in the middle of Storybrooke's Main Street. She has been standing there for at least two hours, and that's by Emma's watch, which has become less reliable as dusk falls. Now the hands are circling each other, like the rings of a planet or an atom, swinging in lazy circles. Emma considers the wristwatch for a moment, and then peels it away from her skin. The paleness of her wrist beneath the dirt and blood is shocking.

The curse is broken. At least that's what people keep telling her. And she's starting to believe it too. Archie is looking decidedly less human and Mary Margaret and James (and the thought that they're her _parents_ is a place she is avoiding going anywhere near at the present time) are all over each other like teenagers. Mary Margaret is grinning, not her usual soft smile, and her cheekbones are smeared with dust.

People are celebrating in the near darkness. Emma turns with a jerk, heart pounding, at an explosion somewhere further down the street, but blue and yellow sparks light up the evening sky and she loosens the death grip on her sidearm. It's only fireworks. She wants to walk towards the happy shouts and singing, she wants to find Henry and hug him hard, feel the thud of his heart beneath his ribs. But she can't tear herself away. She won't, because there is one person in this town who doesn't have their happy ending anymore.

She tried to give Belle her jacket, but she just shrugged it away. She's only wearing a stained hospital gown, and this is _Maine_. She must be _freezing_. Emma crosses her arms across her chest, trying to hold in the warmth the wind is tearing from her.

"Belle." Emma says quietly, tries to inject her tone with confidence and calm. Above all calm, because she doesn't want to set off the screaming again. Seeing a person twist their body into that shape, bent and warped with sheer agony...it makes her feel sick.

Belle has her back to Emma but she turns her head very slightly, so Emma can see the shape of her ear, the line of her neck disappearing under her tangled hair. She's listening at least, which is something Emma can work with.

"Belle. We've got to go inside. You're going to get sick."

Belle laughs, and it's hollow and low and is coming from such a dark, dark place that Emma feels her feet shifting backwards. To fight or to run, she isn't sure.

"I am sick. There is no cure for what I have, Saviour. There is _nothing_."

She is still holding the knife. She's holding it by the blade, and the hilt is tucked up against her forearm like an extension of her body. Emma hasn't tried to take it off her. She knows that beneath Belle's heel there are the crushed remnants of a human heart. She stabbed it first, stabbed it again and again, and then threw it onto the street and brought her right foot down to crush it against the road.

It was vengeance for Mr Gold, Emma knows. It had frightened her as well, seeing his body beneath Regina's feet, his cane lying inches from his hand. She can't stop seeing that cane in her head, and remembering her thoughts in that blinding, horrific moment: _He's dead then_.

She doesn't quite understand it, what happened between Belle and Gold, the relationship between the knife and Regina's surge in power as she broke the streets beneath their feet, the all-pervasive whisper of that name. _Rumplestiltskin_.

Regina is dead, however, and Belle still holds the knife that killed her. It seems that Regina didn't trust anyone, that she buried her heart with all the others in her thrall beneath her father's crypt. Somehow, Belle found the way. And she advanced through the storm, and she made it stop. She made it all stop.

The least Emma can do is understand why.

But Belle stumbles finally, sets her feet in motion, and starts up the street that leads out of Storybrooke. Under the flickering streetlights, Emma can see the blood trickling down the knife as Belle grips it. She can also see the name engraved there. The _B_ is oddly ornate, the word in script like flowing water.

Emma starts after her on stiff legs. Her knees won't seem to unlock. But she knows deep in her heart that something is very wrong about this picture. Belle, her shoulders straight, her face away from the fireworks. Heading into the darkness.

"Wait! Belle! You can't leave!"

And what Emma means that she doesn't _want_ her to leave, not that she can't.

But Belle turns at long last, and her eyes reflect no light, black holes in her face.

"Just try and stop me, _dearie_." She hisses.

Emma stands on the cold street for a long time afterwards, straining her eyes towards where the other woman was swallowed up by the shadows. She doesn't try and follow. She has enough sense to know when something has been shattered beyond repair. All she would end up doing is cutting herself on the shards.

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**Author's Note:** _Dr Nicholas Rush plus Belle = universe-breaking awesomeness. Jumping on the bandwagon. :)_

_Concrit well received,_

**_Taluliaka._**


	2. Chapter 2

**Edge of a Knife**

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**Disclaimer:** _See Chapter 1 for full disclaimer._

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Belle sits on a barstool contemplating her crumpled notebook. She took it from a motel room three weeks ago. It has a brown leather cover and such straight thin blue lines. It lends order to the chaotic sprawl of thoughts that spill across the pages; her curse-memories are fading, and she scribbles them down before they drop out of her mind altogether.

In this world, she cannot risk forgetting the value of money, the laws of the towns. She cannot risk being locked up. The Dark One is with her, a heartbeat hidden beneath her own, crawling behind her veins. It is very subdued in this world, tiny but malevolent, a snake coiled at the back of her mind. It can make no mischief in this land without magic, but it can whisper, it can beguile. It wants to return to the Enchanted Forest, where it has power. That is why Belle must keep travelling on, stubbornly turning her back on the place that calls to her blood.

Her fingers smooth and flip the pages. She pauses for a moment on one of her lists, of things that are not true here.

_Dragons_

_Trolls_

_Magic_

_True love_

Belle flips the notebook closed sharply, and rubs at her temples. The bar is filling as evening falls. It sounds just like the taverns back home, like the one she came to after Rum... Belle takes a drink, lets the alcohol burn away the memory before it can fully form. No lady's cup for her tonight, wine won't dull her dreams and curb her spiked and terrible thoughts. Now she drinks spirits, rum and whisky, anything that tastes of flame.

"Evenin,' sweetheart."

The odour of an unwashed body stings her nostrils. A truck driver squeezes his bulk onto the stool beside her, his flannelette shirt strained over his sagging belly. He leans far too close, smelling like beer and sweat.

"I'm not interested, thank you."

Belle swirls the amber liquid left in her glass, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"C'mon baby. I'm sure we can find a way to pass the time."

His hand touches her hair, and Belle reacts with sudden fury. Her dagger, that she keeps nestled at her hip, slams into the wood of the bar between his second and third fingers.

"I said: I'm not _interested_."

The man sits back, blinking in dumb silence. Belle regrets her outburst at once, and she stands shakily, gathering up her notebook and pencil. She tucks the knife away again, hides it beneath her jacket. She wants to apologise to this stupid, harmless old man, but her lips can't form words that aren't born of hate. Her grief is deep and ever present, and it will drown her if she stops for even one moment. She passes out into the night alone.

* * *

Another day, another bar, this one high-class, the haunt of businessmen and women in designer suits. Clouds have blotted out the strains of afternoon sunlight, and the sky is streaked with shades of pearl. Belle is tapping her pencil on her table, reading over her notes, and trying her best to ignore other people's conversations. Her mood is tipping into irritation as the establishment becomes louder and more crowded. Belle keeps from scowling only with intense schooling of her facial muscles. Displays of emotion attract attention, not only from this world, but from within. The angrier she becomes, the stronger the Dark Magic twines around her soul, like a vine strangling a tree. She cannot afford to become emotional. Not now.

A few seats away, there is a young woman curled on her bar stool. One fist is clenched on her forehead and the other holds her mobile to her ear.

She is wearing a soft grey suit and a white blouse with black pumps. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a sophisticated bun, but tendrils have escaped and hang around her eyes. Physically she must be Belle's age, or a little younger, not counting the two decades Belle spent as the Queen's prisoner, frozen in time. The woman's lips curl like a child as she listens to the voice on the other end of the phone.

"But..." She says, and is cut off. Her fingers curl around her wine glass hopelessly, and then release it.

"But Guy, we've _talked_ about this. I said I was going, and I am. I love you, I do, but you know how long I've been waiting for this promotion. I get to go on the ship and...please don't say that. We've talked about this so many times. Look, the IOA choose one person, just _one person_, Guy, and that's me! Out of everybody, I get to go. Don't...don't say that."

She begins to cry in earnest now, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Belle looks away, unsettled. But the word _ship_ expands in her head, blooms into the smell of salt and the cries of sea birds, the feel of the rough stone of the battlements under her fingers. Her father's strong arms lifting her to see the ships as they danced in among the waves. The Dark One stirs at the back of her thoughts, giving her desire a sly nudge. Why should this mewling child get to travel the ocean? Why not her? She longs for the rhythm of the ocean, the white cliffs.

The woman disconnects the call and stands unsteadily, much the worse for alcohol. Belle notices, with a pang of fear, the wheeled suitcase at her side. She's leaving now. She was saying goodbye to the man on the phone. She is going to the ship.

No one notices Belle slip out of the bar and follow the woman in the grey suit. No one knows that the Dark One is whispering in her ear, telling her what to do.

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**Author's Note:** _Obviously I'm messing with time a little here. In this story the curse in Storybrooke breaks in 2009, before anyone is stranded on Destiny. Thanks go to Slightly for the review, who is just an all-around awesome person. Thanks also go the eclipse ze lunachik, R2R, Artemis Samhain and Nighcrawler's Shadow for their interest in this story. Re-watching Season 1 of SGU now, so expect the updates thick and fast before I forget the plotlines._

_Concrit well received,_

**_Taluliaka._**


	3. Chapter 3

**Edge of a Knife**

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**Disclaimer:** _See Chapter 1 for full disclaimer._

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Emma is in her old office when the phone rings. It's difficult to find a place that is unaffected by the slow disintegration of Storybrooke, and the Sherriff's office is a tiny island of sanity in a world turned on its head. To be honest, Emma wasn't even sure that the phone lines were still working, and her boots slip off the edge of the desk in surprise as the old telephone shudders into life.

"Uh...hello?"

The voice on the other end is quiet and unfamiliar.

"Emma?"

"Yes?"

There is a moment's pause and Emma catches a glimpse of Le..._Grumpy _on the street below. She's known the man for only a few months, and his grin, visible even from so far away, creeps her out a little. Isn't there another dwarf with the monopoly on that emotion, or something?

"It's Belle."

Emma stands abruptly, her chair rolling away across the carpet and pitching into the wall.

"Belle! Oh my god, are you okay? Where are you calling from?"

"Washington."

"What are you doing in Washington?"

"I was just...travelling."

"What's wrong? Is there something wrong?"

Belle sounds awful, tired and hoarse, exhaustion cracking her gentle voice and giving Emma a case of very bad vibes. She rakes her fingers through her blonde curls and takes a cautious breath.

"How's the...the magic?"

Belle lets out a tiny sigh.

"It's bad."

Emma's done some investigating in the weeks since Belle left Storybrooke. She thinks she has a better grasp on magic as a concept, and what it does. How it corrupts. From what she's heard, the curse might have actually stopped Gold's slide into insanity. The man she knew now seems a well-adjusted and sane individual compared to some of the stories she has heard of his exploits in the Enchanted Forest.

"A new story appeared in Henry's book."

"Oh."

Belle doesn't seem to have the energy for curiosity. But she needs to be told. Emma paces up and down a few times, and then drops the bombshell.

"It was about him. And you. Rumplestiltskin, I mean."

There is a long silence.

"_Oh_."

The amount of pain in that one sound makes Emma clench her teeth.

"Henry's been telling everyone. I mean, everyone that's left. Most of them have gone back to the Forest. This portal, I guess, appeared near the Troll Bridge and you can just step over the line. I don't know how long it's going to stay open, though. No one does. But Henry's making sure that everyone knows about what happened. The truth."

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why is he telling people about us?"

_Why does he care, _is the unspoken question Belle is asking. There is an edge to her voice that is betraying a grief that is still very raw.

"Well, for one reason, it turns out Rumplestiltskin was his grandfather."

* * *

Alice Marley is curled in the corner of her hotel room. There is a throbbing lump on the side of her head, and her fingers come away bloody when she dares to explore it. Her attacker is sitting on the bed, talking on _her_ phone, and Alice doesn't know what to do. The woman is playing with a strange wavy knife, watching the light play off the blade. If she screams for help, will she stab her? For that matter, will anyone hear? She's stayed here three nights and never heard anyone's television in another room, or footsteps above or below. The wall behind her sore head feels thick, made to deaden sound. Made to cage her cries for help. Alice shivers, and tries hard not to cry.

The woman on the bed shifts, and frowns. Her eyes are very blue, Alice can't help noticing, blue as china. Doll's eyes.

"Baelfire is there?" She asks the person on the other end of the line. She hooks her free arm around her stomach, and hunches her shoulders. She looks tired and beaten. Maybe Alice could beat her to the door? But even as she thinks it, the woman's eyes drift to hers, and she freezes under the weight of that stare.

"No, I can't come back." The woman says, staring searchingly into Alice's wide eyes. Her accent is hard to place, pleasant to listen to, almost musical.

"Ask him if you don't believe me. When he came through to this world, his father couldn't follow. The Magic wouldn't let him. It has purpose, Emma. It has _intent_. If I come back to Storybrooke, I won't be able to help going through the portal."

Alice stares at the carpet under her feet, petrified. She's locked in a room with a madwoman. God knows what this woman is capable of. _Magic? Portals?_ She's completely insane.

"When the curse broke, I saw my future there. I saw the future of the kingdoms. I saw what I turned into, Emma. It's best that I never go back."

The woman is silent for a while, listening to this Emma person on the other end. Is she trying to talk her out of these delusions? Is she an accomplice? Alice draws her knees up to her chest and hugs them, trying to think.

"I'm sorry." The woman says finally, sitting up straight. Her eyes are clear and her jaw determined.

"I hope you have a good life. You and Henry. Tell Baelfire...tell him his father was a good man. That's why I loved him. Goodbye."

For a moment, the two women are statues, wooden puppets propped in opposite corners. Alice's attacker puts her head in her hands for a moment and murmurs, "I choose my own fate."

Then her strange eyes are back on Alice, unblinking. Hypnotic.

"Guy." She says, and Alice blinks, nonplussed.

The woman lowers her head and stares at her.

"Your boyfriend?"

"Yes." Alice whispers breathlessly.

"Do you love him?"

The woman is blurring, disappearing behind a veil of tears.

"Yes." Alice gasps.

"Then tell me when the ship leaves, and I promise no harm will come to you both."

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**Author's Note:** _Thanks go to my reviewer Me, although if I'm supposed to know who you are... I don't. Thanks anyway. Thank you also to abbasragamuffin and c3144160 for your interest. More soon!_

_Concrit well received,_

**_Taluliaka._**


	4. Chapter 4

**Edge of a Knife**

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**Disclaimer: **_See Chapter 1 for full disclaimer. Spoilers for SGU S1.01: Air._

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The panic choking the room does not touch Belle; she steps through the portal with a deep pool of calm drowning her thoughts. It is because of the Darkness, which should trouble her, but truly, there is nothing to fear. For what is this but magic, and magic is what she has known for centuries, magic crackles at her fingertips and brushes at her shoulders and this not-liquid that ripples within the silver circle is just another form. She reaches out, in this place between places, and lets the power flow over her hands and arms. It nips like frost, and smells like lightning.

And then the journey ends, and Belle stumbles on unseen ground. The whole world is screaming. Lights refract madly off the walls, blinding her. It is cold and something is _moving_ beneath her feet, thrusting and writhing. She falls, and her outflung hands find skin. It is a person scrabbling, slick with the cold sweat of fear. Hot breath stings her cheek, and the body beneath her lets out a ragged cry, like a death knell. With a sharp stab of panic, she pushes herself off the ground, away, and her mind is closing itself off and the Dark One, ever watchful for an opportunity, rushes forward.

Something blunt and heavy crashes into the side of her skull and the world tilts, dropping out from beneath her feet. Belle lands on her back, and in the darkness above her there is a figure leaning over the railing, and in the sharp planes of his face...

...oh Gods that _smile_...

He fades, along with everything else, but a ribbon of joy follows her into the abyss.

* * *

"_I dreamed of you every night."_

_He is lying so close that Belle feels the moment the tension leaves his body, when the wires rammed under his veins untwist at last, and he drops his face into her unbound hair._

"_And I of you." He says hoarsely._

_She turns in the circle of his arms to face him, and runs her fingers lightly over the line of his jaw. He catches her thumb between his teeth, teasing, and then kisses her swollen knuckles. There is a familiar darkness gathering behind his eyes._

"_Sleep, love." He says, her Rumplestiltskin._

"_Tomorrow we kill the Queen."_

* * *

Belle's eyes open, and at first she sees nothing at all. Then a woman's head floats into view, and someone is calling for Alice. Burning light sears her left eye, and then her right, and she flinches wildly. Her head throbs.

"Her pupils are responding."

"Thank God. Alice? Alice, can you hear me?"

Camile Wray is leaning close, worry digging deep lines on her face, and her black hair brushes over Belle's collarbone, making her shiver.

"Alice." Camile says. And Belle recalls the last hours suddenly, and completely. It is an effect of the magic in her blood. Every moment since the Dark One invaded her body is magnified, every second a torment that can be recalled again and again. Alice is the woman in the hotel room, folding up her body in the corner as though she might disappear if she tried hard enough. Alice is the girl that she threatened with torture and death so that she might find some far corner of the world where peace still exists.

It was not the ship that Belle expected, but there was something glorious about having the entire Earth, with all its complications and horrors and hate so far removed, like a grape she could take in her fingers and squeeze dry.

"TJ!" Someone roars from across the room, and the healer springs to her feet, deft and sure, and strides away into the confusion.

"Keep her still, and keep pressure on the wound!" She calls over her shoulder to Camile, whose hands wring for a moment in anxiety before she stretches forward to push a wad of cloth more firmly against Belle's head. Belle notices how calm the woman seems, now that she has been given a manageable task in this sea of desperate, frightened people. Camile Wray has courage, and she relaxes for a moment before she recalls.

She heaves herself up, and the pain swells like the crest of a wave and pounds inside her head so that all Belle can do is clutch her wound and ride it out. Finally, it ebbs a little and she looks up and around, desperately searching.

"What are you doing? Alice, stop, lie down. Lieutenant Johansen said to..."

"Where is he?" Belle cuts her off. She can't see him anywhere, and the idea that he was a fever dream, some illusion cast from her unbalanced mind, is too much to bear.

"Did you see him?"

"See who?" Camile follows her gaze upwards, to the next deck. There is no sign of movement.

The despair is thick and all-consuming. Belle gulps down air, and grinds her teeth against the oncoming tears. She will not cry in front of this stranger, this woman who watches her with such confusion, whose free hand, she realises, is stroking her hair as though she is a child.

The air around them shifts oddly. There is a strange sound, grating, echoing from all directions. Belle's vision distorts for just a second, making her blink. Beneath her, the floor grows warm. The Dark One sends forth a cold tendril of interest, like a splinter burying itself behind her eye. It is much stronger here, she realises, wherever they have come through.

And in the moment Belle knows this, the Dark One knows it just as well, and sends her spinning back into unconsciousness.

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**Author's Note:** _Thank you to sarah hobbit, and luna andie for your interest. More soon._

_Concrit well received,_

**_Taluliaka._**


	5. Chapter 5

**Edge of a Knife**

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**Disclaimer: **_See Chapter 1. Spoilers for SGU S1.01: Air._

* * *

When Belle opens her eyes, there is nothing behind them but the Darkness. The Dark One is concentrated will and desire, it has intelligence distilled through hundreds of years of host forms, and it cannot, in the truest form, exist outside a body. It does not seek to crush independent life completely, merely keep it compliant. And this host's mind has turned itself from the light far too easily. In the Enchanted Forest, the Dark One has always had to fight for control.

Here, this sudden switch has left it reeling in surprise. The shift of complete control is unsettling, especially as the probability exists that it could swing back at any moment, leaving the host in charge. It muses on this notion, troubled. It cannot feel the host mind at all, as though it has been submerged beneath layers of fog. It sends a questing tendril into the grey, but to no avail. Therefore, it turns away, focusing on the silent silver circle that contains such interesting power.

People are yelling, milling, their panic a thick tang upon the air. There is a soldier attempting to restore order, a civilian confronting him. The Dark One can see quite plainly the death that settles on the Senator's shoulders, the diseased thump of his protesting heart, and watches him turn pale with distracted amusement. In the wake of the old man's fall, the room quickly empties. The able-bodied people are directed into groups like sheep, and taken away to explore the bowels of the vessel. The Dark One is excluded by the wound upon Belle's head that troubles it not at all. Part of it would like to see what might wait in the outer darkness, but the circle is close by, and the Dark One wishes to examine it while the attention of the soldiers is directed elsewhere.

* * *

Belle returns to herself to find her fingertips resting lightly on the Stargate. She snatches them away, though the metal is cool to the touch, and catches the tail end of the Dark One's satisfaction like the fragments of a dream upon waking. She has no idea how she came to be standing here, or what the Dark One has done in her absence. She turns, but there are no accusing glares. No one is paying any attention to her at all. They are gathered before the staircases, and they are listening to...

She finds herself clutching at the metal again, this time for support. For it is He who stands there, breathing and whole, and her stomach lurches with fear and happiness. He is so different. And yet, if any could have outwitted death, surely it would have been Rumplestiltskin.

Her throat is so dry she could not call out if she tried. She merely stares, taking in every inch of him. She must not blink, or he may disappear again. The people are growing angry. He names himself their leader, though she can tell he will take no pleasure from it. It is a means to an end, though what that end is she does not yet know. Camile is in the forefront of the dissenters, accusing and insulting, and Belle feels a sharp pleasure. It is reason against madness then, a king and his court against a sorcerer who dares to sit on the throne and mock their power. Belle laughs, a jarring note against the tide of shouts and yells, as he does what he has always done best: create chaos.

Then his eyes meet hers, that familiar darkness that she loves, and there is no recognition, no spark there.

Belle had been ready to run, to fly to his side, to take her place beside him. But his eyes _turn away_, and he continues speaking and he does not know her. He does not know her because he is not Rumplestiltskin after all, just a stranger wearing his face, and the deception is all the more cruel because he is unaware of who he resembles. Nobody sees but her, nobody remembers but Belle, and this is clearly some cruel trick. _The Queen_, she thinks wildly, and feels again the heart throbbing beneath her bare foot.

But no, it cannot be. Belle has exiled herself upon this ship with this man with her true love's face, that she might torture herself every day with what has been lost. The realisation is a blow to her chest, a patch of ice that spreads and numbs her whole body. What a fool she was, to believe that she might know respite in this world or any other. She is cursed, and the curse will cling to her forever.

* * *

Belle is given a cabin, sparse and grey, Alice's pink suitcase an affront to the eye against the muted tones. She is left to her thoughts finally, and the pressing of the walls remind her of her cell in Storybrooke. So she paces, and half-wishes that the Dark One might come forth and take back her eyes and hands, that she might remove herself for a while. But it does not, and she cannot, and the minutes trickle past, measuring out a new and endlessly painful eternity.

She will not let this be her ever after. Her fingernails dig into her palms, drawing forth a blood promise. If she is the Dark One, then she may as well make use of her power. She will not let this be her life.

"_I choose my own fate_."

Belle does not realise that she is not speaking in English. But around her, the walls hum a little more deeply, at the barely remembered pleasure of hearing Ancient spoken once more.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Thank you to bobbin bird and Varenka for your interest, and a. c. ryder for Favourite-ing. More soon._

_Concrit well received,_

**_Taluliaka._**


	6. Chapter 6

**Edge of a Knife**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_See Chapter 1. Spoilers for SGU S1.01-3: Air. Set before S1.04: Darkness._

* * *

Belle is counting food supplies when a man kneels beside her. He begins to sort through a backpack with elegant, capable fingers. His smile is soft, with no sharp or devilish twists.

"How are we doing?"

He is one of the doctors, she remembers, not of healing but of _science_, which she still believes is just another word for magic. Perhaps they have forgotten the old word, but it feels the same. Even the ship around them lives, hums with purpose. Sometimes, if she splays her fingers against the walls, she can sense a contentment vibrating along the panels. The crew has arrived, and now the voyage can begin. She does not think that anyone else has realised this. They speak continuously of going home.

"I don't know." She answers, truthfully enough. Belle has heard of the death of the Senator, that he did a brave thing to save the rest from a slow and lingering death. She knew deep in her bones when the Stargate was opened, for the Dark One uncoiled in glee and pressed against the bonds of her waking mind. She understands that the man who solved the problem of the air is the same who has marooned them in this great unknown place, where the stars are bright and close enough to help her forget for hours at a time. She still cannot look at him without pain, this Doctor Rush. Doctor Caine breaks into her thoughts; she had almost forgotten he was there.

"Alice?"

There is something unsettling in the sympathy in his eyes. He rolls a green apple between his hands, watching her with a sad smile.

"I'm sorry."

She attempts her own smile, and Doctor Caine gently tosses her the apple.

"I suppose we're all down the rabbit hole now."

It is only by accident that Belle discovers the meaning behind his puzzling words. At the bottom of Alice's suitcase is a book, bound in faded red leather. When her fingertips brush it, she recalls with dizzying clarity her deep love of reading, her precious collection in her father's castle, and the fascinating and dangerous tomes of Rumplestiltskin's library. She had thought it dulled forever, and it pleases her to find the renewed pleasure so keen. So she lies on the bed and loses herself in the story of the little girl and the place called Wonderland, reassuring in its familiarity, although she cannot quite recall why.

The ship is quiet and dark, for the soldiers have ruled it night, and Belle finds her eyelids heavy as the minutes slip by. She falls asleep with her hands still curled about the book, like a child seeking comfort with a favourite toy. But when she wakes, suddenly and silently, there is nothing innocent in her graceful and cunning movements. There is nothing human behind her eyes.

* * *

Nick strides back into the control room, anger spurring him past his awareness of his own exhaustion. The corridors are pitch black and difficult to navigate; he's been shutting down any consoles and systems he can find in an effort to stop the slow and maddeningly steady loss of power. Even now, he fears his efforts are too little and too late. After a few moments of deftly sorting through files and managing a tricky workaround of the equivalent of an Ancient firewall, his worst fears are confirmed.

"Fuck," he hisses to himself, raking both hands through his hair. Nothing he tries has any effect; _Destiny_ is down to reserve power and draining fast. If he can stop people from touching anything, if he can just slow this down enough, then maybe he can work out a way to stop everything going to shit.

Another system wavers, and then blinks off the screen. Nick reacts by giving the console base two savage kicks and paces in a tight circle, pressing the heels of both palms over his eyes. It does nothing to calm the pain in his head.

"Fucking Young and fucking Riley and their _fucking stupid plan_..."

Trying to dial Earth had been doomed to failure, he could have told them that if Young had deigned to include him in the first damn place. He kicks out at the console again, imagining it to be Colonel Young's stupid fucking face and then returns to his seat, shaking his hair from his tired eyes. There has to be a way he can stop this. Nick is half-tempted to find Eli, wherever the boy has hidden himself, and force him to help. But all the boy can talk about, all anyone can fucking talk about, is when they get to go home. As if this is some sort of humorous mishap they can laugh about later. As if he can just click his fingers and take them all back to Earth from the other side of the _fucking universe_. Nick wishes he could. Ninety per cent of them are fucking useless anyway.

He isn't sure how much time has passed before he becomes aware of the noise. It's a sharp, scraping sound, certainly nothing any of the technology in here could make. He turns, searching the darkness for the source, and catches the play of blue light from the console screen reflecting off something on the other side of the room. Nick stares, wondering whether he's having some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination. But no, that is certainly a person over there, and that is one extremely sharp, if odd-looking knife she's holding.

"Would you like some?" The woman asks. It takes him a moment to realise that she's holding out half of an apple. He takes it automatically before realising who she is. That girl of Wray's, one of those IOA officials always hanging over his shoulder on Icarus, lecturing and endlessly worrying at his calculations. Ally, Alex, something beginning with A. Nick hasn't been paying much attention to the civilians that were brought through to _Destiny_. Being threatened by armed soldiers every five minutes for looking the wrong way at any piece of technology does make one prioritise.

"Thank you." He says finally, far too late to be polite. He can't help staring though. She certainly doesn't fit the IOA mould. That old leather motorcycle jacket and her jeans are a far cry from the ironed suits and shiny shoes Nick's used to seeing on members. He doesn't remember any of them carrying concealed weapons either.

"That's an interesting blade you have there."

She slides it slowly back into its leather sheath, hidden beneath the thick leather of her jacket, and smiles with quiet confidence.

"Family heirloom."

Nick nods, and remembers the fruit in his hand. He takes a bite and lets the juice sting his tongue. He's never cared much for apples, but the sugar will keep him on his feet the rest of the night. The woman is watching him closely, chewing a bite of her own half.

"You should watch your back." She says finally, nodding to herself. Her dark curls shift with the movement, ripping like water.

"Why?" He asks, vaguely curious. As if he didn't fucking know that half the people on this ship would be lining up to put a bullet in his head once they realised their full situation.

"They don't realise yet." She says, nodding towards the yawning mouth of the corridor.

Nick takes another bite of his apple.

"What don't they realise?"

She laughs and smiles at him, a surprisingly sweet smile, but her laughter is brittle and jagged as glass.

"That we aren't going home."

She finishes her slice and starts for the door, sure-footed even in the blackness. Nick watches her go, uneasy in his mind. She turns just as she is about to be swallowed up by the shadows.

"That was the last apple on the ship. Doctor Caine only brought it by accident. I suppose we should enjoy it while we can."

Her grin stays in his mind as she disappears and though he points his eyes at the console and the multitude of problems contained therein, it's a long time before Nick can concentrate.

* * *

**Author's Note:** _Thank you to Cheshire's Chipped Cup, helenluvsboo, wintersmith, decemberpalm, Lacklustre Roses, Joeri Blaine, Chibi Tsuki Hikari, DarkMistressAlice, eclipse ze lunachik, Silverbluesky, bobbinbird, Dippydooda, ElizaMeg and the anonymous reviewer with the subject heading 'Excellent' for expressing interest in my story._

_In other news, I just checked out the Season 2 promos for OUAT and I am so excited to see what the writers have in store for the RumBelle pairing. Also, there is Captain Hook and where there is Hook there is always awesomeness. September 30 cannot come fast enough._

_Concrit well received,_

**_Taluliaka._**


	7. Chapter 7

**Edge of a Knife**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_See Chapter 1. Spoilers for SGU S1.04: Darkness and S1.05: Light._

* * *

Belle folds herself into a corner, hidden from the footfalls and murmurs of the crowd as they disperse along the corridors. She waits, heart aching in her chest, so no one will overhear. Both hands cup her smile, keep it safe and secret in the darkness.

Oh Gods, she is so _relieved_. No longer will she wake with the taste of apple on her tongue and shards of conversations she doesn't remember having lodged in her mind. No longer will the Dark One manipulate her limbs like a puppet and use them for its own dark designs.

The sun will burn it all away. And in the darkness her Rumplestiltskin will be waiting.

* * *

Colonel Young looks up at the gentle knock on the door of his quarters.

"Come in."

A young woman slips around the door as it slides back, pushing back her hair. It's Wray's assistant, he doesn't think he has said more than a few words to her since they were stranded.

"Sit, please." Young says, indicating the chair in front of his makeshift desk.

"No, I'm not staying long. I just wanted you to take me off the list for the shuttle."

At her accent, his heart sinks a little. He must have mixed her up with someone else. He has never met her, or he would have remembered the way she speaks, gentle tones as warm as honey. She looks at him steadily. She has lovely eyes.

"Why?"

She reminds him of TJ, not her hair colour or any physical feature, but something in the way she stands, her quiet, calming presence filling his quarters. She is too young to die, that is what Young knows, far too young to deliberately throw away her chance at survival. She blinks at his question, her mouth opening in confusion.

"I just...I don't have any skills that would be useful on that planet, Colonel. I'd prefer to let someone who did go in my place."

"Are you sure?"

Young shouldn't be pushing this, God knows he'd taken Rush off the list without trying to guess at the man's reasons. But she is standing there, twining her hands together so he won't seek them shake, with her spine straight and her head held high. Asking for death.

"Yes." She says firmly. And when he pauses still, she nods and determination is visible in the line of her jaw. She won't change her mind.

"Okay. " Young says finally and picks up the list of the crew.

"What's your name?"

"Alice. Alice Marley?"

He runs his fingers along the names, and crosses her out as gently as he can with a stroke of his pen. The trip into the sun won't be as fast or as painless, this Young knows without having to ask the science team. Death is never easy.

"It's done." He says, and gives up the riddle he can see in the smoothing of the tension from her face and body, as though he has lifted some great weight.

"Thank you."

* * *

Belle wakes suddenly, viciously, dragging in oxygen with a desperate gasp. Her body is sprawled against one of _Destiny_'s walls, her fingernails gouging at the metal. The Dark One recoils away from her consciousness in fury and fear, curling up on itself. She is in the corridor outside Colonel Young's quarters.

"What did you _do_?" She hisses furiously, pushing her hands against her skull as though she might reach in and grab the force in her head.

"You won't stop me doing this. You can't make me save myself."

She allows her intent to sink in, lets the Dark One search her words for any weakness, any scent of a lie. It finds none. Belle lunges up from her knees, staggering back towards the Colonel's door. She punches the opening mechanism with her fist and strides inside. Young is talking with Camile, and they both look at her in astonishment as she stops in the middle of the floor.

"Did I come back in here?"

The two exchange a glance before Young replies.

"Yes, you asked me to put you back on the list for the shuttle."

Belle cries out in frustration, balling her hands into fists around her hair and pulling until her eyes water. Camile steps forward, one hand outstretched soothingly.

"Alice..."

"Take me back off! Take me back off, and don't listen to me if I come here again."

Then Belle turns and runs.

* * *

Belle walks, trance-like, floating through the corridors to the observation deck where the others have gathered to watch the survivors fly away. The stars are lovely as they hang burning so closely in the great darkness. Even the sun they will die in is so bright and beautiful.

Beneath her jacket, where nobody can see, Belle's arms are covered in precise thin slices. The dagger is so sharp that she could barely feel the original cuts she made, but once she began to gouge and peel strips of skin the pain was enough to keep her awake and dominant, to keep the Dark One subdued beneath the weight of her mind. The blood loss is making her dizzy, and it's a relief to rest her weight on the railing.

Even the presence of Rush so close at her right elbow isn't enough to jolt her from her state. She looks at him with anticipation of what is coming, her true love reflected in his flesh like a mirror, and feels no pain. The shuttle burns out of sight, the last messages from the radio fading into static as distance takes hold, and people begin to take their leave.

Belle presses her back to the railing and smiles when Young and the other soldier say goodbye to her. She watches Chloe and Eli holding each other up; their hands entwined as tenderly as children, and feels a faint pang of regret that they should die at the beginning of their lives. Then Rush is standing before her, an odd look in his dark eyes. She gives him her last, best smile, hoping vaguely that he has never noticed how she looks at him, and he nods very slightly before walking away.

Then she is free in these last hours to do as she wishes, to walk or stand wherever she likes, and wait for the light. Belle thinks about many things as she slowly paces back towards her room, none deeply. She just lets images slide over her like water, her father and those faint, faint memories of her mother, the curve of the sea, Rumplestiltskin's eyes, and their one night together in Storybrooke. The Dark One watches curiously as she flits over her life, and she lets it look because she has won, and soon they will both end.

Finally Belle finds she can walk no further, she must have taken a wrong turning and now a wall blocks her path. It is a good a place to die as any, she supposes, and sits down to wait. She spreads her fingers to feel the fine tremor of _Destiny_ as it sails to its final destination, and opens her mind to the ship.

What she finds devastates her, and as Belle crumbles the Dark One realises what she has and chuckles quietly and delightedly at this turn of fate. And _Destiny_, radiating content and peace from every wire and plate, continues to let itself be drawn towards the life-replenishing energy of the star.

* * *

**Author's Note:** _Thank you to ElizaMeg, Hikari no Chibi, wintersmith, DarkMistress Alice and a. for reviewing and Melody-chii, billandsookie, Boudicca of Green and Neferet25 for expressing interest in my story._

_Sorry about the delay. Deadline for the thesis is now less than a month away, and it's been all thesis, all the time over here, apart from the copious amounts of procrastination with buying a ton of DVDS and books online. Plus I've been on a James Nesbitt kick, particularly Jekyll, and now when I look at this story the Dark One reminds me of Hyde so much. (Except without the fixation on lions.) But I have geared myself up by taking a day off watching SGU episodes, and decided to update._

_Concrit always appreciated,_

_**Taluliaka.**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Edge of a Knife**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _See Chapter 1. Spoilers for S1.05: Light and S1.06 Water._

* * *

"_-come to the medbay. I need your assistance_."

TJ stirs under the covers, groaning as the radio crackles with static. After all the fear and excitement of re-docking with _Destiny_, she just wants to rest. For a blessed moment, she thinks that it was a message meant for another channel, but then-

"_Lieutenant Johansen, I need your assistance in the medbay immediately._"

TJ pushes herself up from the bed, her head aching, trying to shake off sleep. Doctor Rush's voice is clipped, angry, although that might not mean anything. He always seems to be functioning at some level of controlled rage. It's probably how he's able to work such long hours without rest – adrenaline can keep you pushing through the pain barrier, past the point of collapse, until it wears off like any drug, leaving you a physical and mental wreck. At least she won't have to carry him to the medbay this time, if he's already there.

She drags her singlet over her head and snatches up her radio.

"I'm coming."

When she enters, Rush is standing by the head of a woman laid out on one of the beds. As TJ gets closer, she recognises her as Alice, Camile's assistant, one of her head trauma patients from their arrival on _Destiny_. TJ checks her breathing, her vital signs, her hands swift and sure while she fires questions at the scientist.

"Do you know what happened?"

"I found her like this about ten minutes ago."

"Where was she?"

"One of the unused corridors near the Gate room."

"And what were you doing there if it was an unused corridor?"

When her mind catches up with her tongue, TJ winces at her tone. She has been speaking to Rush like he was a subordinate while she was thinking about her patient, and the way he folds his arms with the easy insolence that so infuriates Colonel Young tells her she's annoyed him.

"I was working, Lieutenant, as I have every day and every night since we came aboard this ship."

"Right, sorry." TJ murmurs, gently pulling up Alice's shirt to expose more of the inflamed cuts and scrapes that cover her pale forearms and shoulders. Rush steps closer to study them.

"These were self-inflicted, then?"

TJ turns Alice's hand palm up to reveal more terrible cuts, even horizontal stripes marring her flesh up to the crease in her elbow.

"Yes, and done with something very sharp. I would say a knife, but I didn't think we brought many through –"

Rush tosses a long leather sheath onto the workbench beside TJ.

"She had this on her. I've seen her with it before, but I don't think she uses it much."

TJ carefully removes the blade. The shape of it is odd, the waves of the steel tapering down to a deadly point. The script on its side looks archaic, but seems freshly scored, as though it had been carved there only recently.

"I don't know much about knives. Greer might know where it comes from. He has a collection."

"She said it was a family heirloom."

"_Belle." _TJ says, trying out the note on her tongue. How strange that the French word for beauty should be engraved on a weapon.

On the table, Alice stirs, moaning a little. Her hands curl into fists and she tries to lift her head.

TJ drops the knife and springs to her side, pressing her back down.

"Don't try to get up, Alice. You're in the medbay. Doctor Rush found you unconscious and called me. How do you feel?"

Alice gives a little sigh, and her eyes open. Her pupils are dilated, nearly swallowing the blue of her irises and a hectic flush of pink blooms over her cheekbones.

TJ presses the back of her hand to Alice's forehead.

"She's feverish. Some of her cuts must be infected. Could you get me water and some cloth?"

Rush is nearly out the door before TJ calls, "And some of the antibiotics!"

She waits for him to say something about the medicine supply, to say something cutting and pragmatic about the uselessness of the woman burning up under her hands, but his lean figure disappears into the dim corridors without a word.

* * *

For the next two days, TJ monitors Alice's fever. She slips in and out of consciousness, between restless sleep and hours of wakeful silence tinged with sadness. Her cuts scab over, the straight cuts giving far less trouble than the patches of raw skin that seem to have been flayed. These swell and grow hot to the touch, and leak pus over her bandages.

TJ cannot find any previous scarring to suggest a compulsive behaviour. But she watches Alice closely, and suspects a form of depression. Who knows what people were thinking as they watched the shuttle leave them to burn in the sun? When she tries to bring it up with Rush, who visits at odd hours, never staying for long and avoiding her pointed questions about his own health, he only comments scathingly that he was astonished that more people didn't react like Alice, and take their own lives rather than wait out the slow drift into oblivion.

But TJ doesn't think that Alice was trying to kill herself. A quick cut to the wrist or throat would have caused a quick death, a sudden burst of despair that is not reflected here in those rows of methodical wounds. And she believes that Rush knows that as well. It is written so clearly on his face when she finds him standing over her late at night, like Alice is a puzzle he needs to solve. If she were a computer he would have teased out her secrets long ago.

But she is a person, and you cannot solve a person like an equation.

* * *

Belle opens her eyes.

The medbay is dim, suggesting it must be late, or early. Everyone is sleeping, except for the Dark One in the back of her skull, circling restlessly.

But when she turns her head on the thin pillow, she finds that she isn't alone. Doctor Rush is there, a boot propped up on one of the medbay chairs and his notepad balanced against his knee. The silence is so deep that she can hear the scratch of the lead against the paper, the pauses as he works at a problem in his head, and the tap of his pencil. She has seen his work before, those tiny cramped numbers and symbols marching over the straight blue lines as though they don't exist, never ceasing.

She feels oddly at ease watching him work, a thing she never felt with Rumplestiltskin. Magic was wildly unpredictable, and there was always the chance of something exploding, or catching alight, or doing something completely unexpected like enchanting all the furniture in the castle. Belle had dropped the kettle when it bid her good morning, and the books in the library all spoke to each other in a high continuous hum that made her hair stand up. It had taken Rumplestiltskin nearly a week to reverse the spell, during which Belle hadn't been able to sleep for hearing the weeping of the little doll couple every night.

She shivers as she remembers how they keened, and Rush looks up.

"You're awake." He observes, standing and flipping his notebook shut. Belle feels a little sorry that she disturbed him, but he doesn't leave as she expects.

"How are you feeling?"

Belle blinks. It is a difficult question to answer. She is tired, and her cuts throb still under the tight cloths. She tries not to think about how close she came to finding her true love, because that way lies a sullen blackness that swallows up her hours. And all the time she must be wary of the Darkness, and she fears what it might do if she lets it take over.

"I feel…" she tries, and then her voice fails her, because she meets his eyes and she still can't see him without seeing Rum. Maybe she never will.

"It's hard." She says finally, even though he won't understand.

But Doctor Rush sits down beside her, and brushes back the hair that falls in his eyes with a weary hand, and he looks at her with his serious dark eyes.

"Alice, do you remember speaking to me, about a week ago, when I was in the control room? It was late. You gave me half an apple that you cut with your knife."

Belle stares at him, and fear claws its way up her throat.

"Do you remember what you told me?"

She does remember pieces of that night. The look of shock on his face. The bitter apple seeds crunching against her teeth.

"You told me to watch my back because people hadn't realised that we weren't going back to Earth."

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean…I try to keep it under control, but it just takes over when I sleep, sometimes, and it talked to you."

She grabs his wrist.

"It's interested in the Stargate, and I don't know why. But it never does good. It's not interested in working any good."

Rush stares at her.

"Who are you talking about?"

"_The Darkness_." She whispers, and the tears on her cheeks are warm and salty as they trickle over her lips.

"It's in my head, and it's stronger than I am, and so much older. And I think it's going to win."

She begins to cry in earnest now, and some of it is for that lost future with the man she loved, and some of it is for the child she was, and the rest she cannot explain, only that she has been very tired for a very long time and it is a relief to let something out.

And although she cannot see it for her tears are blinding her, Belle feels Rush's hand wrap around hers where it clutches at his arm, and he sits with her patiently until the storm passes.

Belle hiccups, and wipes her face with her free hand.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" She asks Rush at last. She cannot read the expression in his eyes, and the way he stayed for so long while she cried grates against everything she has ever heard about him.

"No." He tells her, and a small smile tugs at the edge of his mouth.

"Everyone has their own darkness inside them. Some people give in, and some people fight it. And so long as you fight it, it can never win."

Belle closes her eyes as her head begins to ache from her spell of weeping. She means to lie down, but that means moving, so instead she lets her head droop forward until it rests against the scientist's chest.

"What about your darkness?" She asks, and he gently rests his chin on the crown of her head.

His answer vibrates against her ear from deep in his chest, and Belle knows that she should be keeping her distance from this man, but it is nice to have someone near her, to hear the beat of another solitary heart.

"Well, I can tell you this. If you're insane, then I am much further along that path than you will ever be."

Belle smiles, and as she drifts into sleep his other arm drifts around to the curve of her spine, his touch cautious, feather-light.

* * *

**Author's Note:** _Thank you to Silver E. Sparrow, compa16, Morange, carya astera, Arekanderu, irishi's6622, talkstoangels77, Guest, Mehan-Smith, Moonspring and Slightly for reviewing and expressing interest and just being downright awesome._

_Silver E. Sparrow and compa16 both raised the question of how Belle has been mistaken for Alice Marley when they don't physically resemble each other. Aha! That is intentional and I mean to address it very soon: someone on Earth will notice as well and Belle will be in all kinds of trouble._

_The updates should be faster now. Uni is finished and I quit my part-time job to have Christmas off. Plus I'm in the middle of re-watching S2 of Stargate Universe and I know how I want the fic to end. Hooray!_

_Concrit always appreciated,_

_**Taluliaka.**_


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